Tuesday, April 21, 2009

The lion sleeps tonight.

A intertextualized poem by the best New England poet I know personally and a favorite former colleague! Also printing this for National Poetry Month (rapidly receding) and as an homage to Joe Posnanski's Literary Ramblings.

Neither Road Taken.

A bright car pulled up where I was walking,
The driver leaning over. I didn't hear his questions,

my arms gesticulated some configuration of streets.

It was winter & ice hung in the branches like a thousand lost
sewing needles descending through the fabric of the afternoon.

It was spring & everything was imminence.
It was summer & the clouds swiftly passed over our heated element.

I told the man I was born beneath the wooden trestle of a train,
that loud noises captured my attention,

not the lefts & rights of destination.

Bearing the white needlepoint of a scar at the base of my neck,
I told him the road to the right was covered in hyacinth,

the one to the left dropped down along the aqueduct to hell.
Choose the oldest, I said to him, choose the oldest.
—Richard Lyons, Fleur Carnivore (The Word Works, 2006)

Winner of the 2005 Washington Prize


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